


Psionic (Nosebleed/Minor bruises)

by MesmiraculouslyMirthful



Series: Goretober [17]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Minor Injuries, Nosebleed, Sollux just needs to sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 02:15:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12422976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MesmiraculouslyMirthful/pseuds/MesmiraculouslyMirthful
Summary: The thing about psionic power, at least in Sollux’s experience, was that it wasn’t all that stable.





	Psionic (Nosebleed/Minor bruises)

The thing about psionic power, at least in Sollux’s experience, was that it wasn’t all that stable.

There were always variables that took the power of control from the user and threw it into the hands of chance. Things as simple as a lack of sleep (which he was no stranger to) or a sudden shift in mood (something which he dealt with often) could easily cause a troll’s psionics to fizzle or otherwise fuck up. A small wave of energy meant to retrieve a bag of freshly popped grubcorn could make a microwave explode. A blast meant to fell an enemy could dissipate into nothingness before it even came close to its target.

Or, in Sollux’s case, a can of shitty soda could fly up and smash you in the face instead of floating to your hand.

“2eriiou2ly. Thii2 ii2 hoofbea2t 2hiit.” Sollux grumbled, his hand cupped around his cheek. The skin felt puffy and warm against his palm, with a bone deep ache that suggested that the injury had already begun to form a bruise. He looked down at the floor of his recreation block, where the soda can had fallen after it had hit him. The can had crumpled, the aluminum twisted and warped. He stood up, carefully avoiding the puddle pooling out from the can and soaking the carpet. He walked to the thermal hull (so much for settling in for a long gaming sessions) and opened it.

Of course it had been the last can he had. There wasn’t even a half full can stuffed into the back corner shelf somewhere, since he had finally got around to cleaning out all of the expired food.

His head was already thrumming with the kind of deep pressure behind his eyes that he had come to associate with an incoming psychic tension panache.Normally he would pound a soda or two, or make himself a cup of instant caffeine sludge, but he had ran out the day before (it had been a long and sleepless week). The pulse of his bloodpusher beat a steady tempo, it’s rhythm seeming to get louder and stronger every time he moved. 

Wincing, Sollux removed his glasses and rubbed his fingers along his forehead and along the arch of his eyebrows, applying slow and steady pressure. He was careful to avoid the bruised skin of his cheek, not wanting to irritate the area any further. The motions came with a practice eased, since he often had these type of headaches. As his fingers traced a firm and familiar path along his face the deep throbbing lessened but did not go away. He could hear the bees from his apiary network humming away in the next room over, the group having found the spilled soda. Sollux sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before carefully sliding his glasses back into place. 

It was going to be a long day. 

He made his way to his absolution block. The laundry hamper that he kept his dirty laundry in (when he remembered to change clothes after a shower) was empty, emptied for the first time in over a perigree during a manic cleaning episode that he had rode for three days straight. The high had left before he could collect his freshly cleaned clothes from the communal laundry mat, and so all of the towels, bedding, and clothes he had washed were still there. He opened the linen closet, hoping that there would be _something_ that he had left behind. It was empty save for a group of bunched up towels on the topmost shelf, far beyond his reach. 

The tug of psionic energy he unleashed was just enough to pull a single towel down and into his hands. The others fell to a heap in the floor, jostled by sudden sharp tug. It didn’t matter. The floor was clean enough, he would pick them up and put them away...eventually. Right then the only thing that really mattered was getting the soda up so that his bees stayed in their network hive instead of swarming around it like a bunch of assholes. His head throbbed.

The bees were resting on the carpet, their soft fuzzy bodies rolling around in the sticky sweet fluid that stained it. Sollux dropped to his knees and moved them individually as he laid down the towel. His bees hummed unhappily, but obligingly began to go back to their hive. Once Sollux was certain that they were no longer under his towel he pressed his hands down hard, patting the puddle dry in an attempt to wring as much of the liquid as possible from the rug. 

His head throbbed again, sharper and louder this time. It felt like a drum was beating inside his skull. His sinuses felt tight and congested, like he had shoved a piece of wet cotton up his sniffnode. His lip felt wet. Sollux shook his head, ignoring the jolts of dizziness that accompanied the motion, and watched as a few drops of blood dripped to the floor. He could feel the blood streaming from his nose, along his lips, and down his chin. Sollux leaned forward over the already damp towel and pinched this nostrils together, right underneath the bridge of his sniffnode. He groaned in frustration.

The thing about psionic power, at least in Sollux’s experience, was that it always tended to cause more problems than it solved.


End file.
